Chapter Seven
Marcos – “I did kiss back”
Marcos felt too much all at once.
Both hands cupping Sebastian’s face, the warmth from his cheeks filling Marcos’ palms. His heart slamming against his ribs. The heat encompassing his whole body, still fresh from the run. The bruise on his cheek pulsing beneath his skin.
Then, there were Sebastian’s lips.
The pressure against his own, the way they moved in the same rhythm, the faintest feeling of Sebastian’s patchy stubble that refused to grow anymore.
Marcos didn’t feel Sebastian’s hands on him. In fact, Sebastian hadn’t moved at all, aside from his lips against Marcos’. Though, Marcos didn’t care. He let himself fall into Sebastian with everything he had, closing his eyes and not giving his brain a chance to catch up to his actions.
Then, Sebastian’s hands were on Marcos’ shoulders. Then there was distance.
The force Sebastian used to push Marcos away wasn’t a lot, but it was enough. Marcos didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t remove his hands from Sebastian’s face. He just stood there, heart and mind racing while he waited for whatever was to come.
The week that had passed since Sebastian had kissed Marcos had been one of the longest weeks in Marcos’ life. Every day seemed as though the sun was never going to set, and each night was sleepless frustration.
Nothing had lined up. Nothing made any sense.
He had known Sebastian for more than ten years.
They had played against each other for each of those, slamming their bodies into each other, throwing punches, trying to prove they were better.
Marcos knew the way Sebastian moved before a contest, the way he shifted his weight before trying to cut around pressure, the way his jaw locked when he was about to say something sharp enough to turn the air between them ugly.
Even off the field, on the sidelines, before and after games, they were at each other’s throats. Snide remarks and cruel jokes. Always on the edge of a fight.
Yet Sebastian had kissed him.
Marcos could see the faint light dancing around behind his eyelids as Sebastian’s hands dropped from his shoulders, and one came to rest on Marcos’ wrist. Not pulling it away. Just sitting there.
“Marcos.” Sebastian’s voice was quiet. Fragile, even. His fingers twitched against Marcos’ wrist, but didn’t move. “What the fuck?”
A breath caught in Marcos’ chest as his eyes fluttered open. The first thing he saw was Sebastian’s eyes—brown, pupils wide, confused. Next was the fading bruise below his eye, the specks of hair trying to make themselves known, and his lips, still wet from Marcos’.
Suddenly, Marcos was too aware of his hands on Sebastian’s cheeks. Too aware of the way his own lips felt. Too aware that Sebastian wasn’t wearing a shirt. Too aware of how sweaty he was.
His hands slid from Sebastian’s face, falling to his side. His wrist, where Sebastian had been holding him, felt light in all the wrong ways as he kept his gaze on the other man.
Sebastian’s words sat between them, mixing with the melody playing throughout the apartment. Marcos’ mind took them and laid them out plainly.
What the fuck?
That was the biggest question that could have been asked. Marcos’ body had acted, and it was only now that his head was starting to grasp what had happened.
The next question should be, why the fuck?
Marcos wasn’t sure he had an answer to either of them.
He wasn’t gay. He never had been.
Of course, there had been times when he’d seen Sebastian stretching on the field or changing his jersey on the sideline and thought he looked good.
But that was normal. He was just admiring a good physique. Sebastian had grown into his body in his late teens, and Marcos had noticed.
It was normal.
Marcos liked women. Had one-night stands with them. Had girlfriends.
Never with a man. He’d never thought about kissing a man. Most of all Sebastian.
So, why the fuck?
“Marcos.” His name again in the same voice.
Marcos swallowed. His eyes slipped down to Sebastian’s lips, then back up again. “I’m sorry.”
He took a step back, but Sebastian followed, his hand stretching out to run down Marcos’ forearm and rest on his wrist again.
“For what?” Sebastian asked, his tone a little harsher now.
“Leaving,” Marcos mumbled. “Coming here. Whatever I did today.”
“Whatever you did?” Sebastian’s hand pulled away, and his lips pulled tight. “Right. And then you come here and do this. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Ayúdame,” Marcos said quietly. “I don’t know what I did.”
Sebastian’s face changed, but only for a second. “I’m just a fag, right?” His fingers balled into a fist again, and Marcos’ eyes darted down to them, but he didn’t move.
Sebastian’s words were sharp in the air, and a sharp twist made itself known in Marcos’ chest, feeling as though something was trying to dig into it.
“I never said that.”
“I heard you.”
“You heard wrong.” Marcos took a step forward. “Please.”
The word came out fractured, and the sharpness on Sebastian’s face wavered. His fingers loosened, and he closed his eyes. Marcos watched him, trying to find the right words to say, but he didn’t know what they were. So, he said the only thing he could think of.
“I did kiss back.”
Sebastian’s eyelids lifted and, as they both stood there searching each other’s eyes, Marcos felt as though they were both fifteen again, standing at a club fundraiser their junior teams had organised.
They had both been dressed nicely. Both looked as though they were out of place.
Marcos remembered the collar of his shirt sitting too tight against his neck and Sebastian standing beside him in stiff pants and a button-up that made him look even more annoyed than usual.
Their parents had been somewhere behind the camera, laughing with people from the club, while the photographer waved them closer together against a white backdrop that had already started sagging on one side.
Sebastian had stood with his hands at his sides, shoulder close enough to brush Marcos’ if either of them breathed too deeply.
The space between them had sat wrong without the usual shove or insult filling it.
Marcos had looked sideways and Sebastian had already been looking back.
They had stood much like they did now, their breathing laboured, eyes wide.
The rivalry didn’t sit between them that night.
There was something else. Something Marcos never understood.
Until now.
The moment Sebastian kissed him, something clicked, and he had spent the past week trying to figure it out. Now, here he was, and it was all stupidly clear.
Despite the bruise Sebastian gave him and the aching in his face. Despite the deep red on Sebastian’s knuckles and the dent in his stomach from Marcos’ shoulder. Despite the years of bloody fighting.
Marcos liked Sebastian.
And that was a big fucking problem.
“Well, that’s pretty obvious now,” Sebastian muttered, shifting his weight, dropping his gaze to his hands. “But on the field—”
“I said, ‘We have this game in the bag,’” Marcos said, a chuckle slipping out.
Sebastian stared at Marcos, biting his lower lip. “Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. I still think I deserved it.” Marcos shrugged. “Besides, I’ve been hit harder. Barely felt it.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “L?n.” He reached to Marcos’ face, fingers gently gliding across the bruise, causing Marcos to wince. “Barely felt it, hey.”
Marcos grinned, though it slipped from his face, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I should’ve stayed. Or talked to you. I just… I don’t know what I’m feeling.”
Sebastian’s hand cupped under Marcos’ chin, tilting it. “What do you want?”
“To not think about it.”
Sebastian gave a slow nod. “Then don’t.”
He leaned in, though not all the way. He closed his eyes and waited. Marcos watched him. The way the television light danced on his clear skin and reflected off his glasses. How his hair fell straight over his forehead. How his long, dark eyelashes quivered as they shut.
That was enough. Marcos didn’t have to think anymore. His hand landed on the side of Sebastian’s face and pulled him in the rest of the way.
Their lips met again, but this time was different. Sebastian’s hand held Marcos’ chin, while the other slithered around his waist, pulling Marcos closer.
Marcos didn’t fight it and let his chest press against Sebastian’s, his own free hand running up Sebastian’s back, feeling the muscles pull and tense. Marcos’ other hand gripped firmer, fingers wrapping around Sebastian’s hair as he pushed in harder.
Their breathing shifted as each of them fought for control, though neither was giving it up. Marcos tugged on Sebastian’s hair, drawing their lips apart.
“Not bad,” Sebastian said softly, a smirk growing on his face as he lifted his gaze to Marcos. “Bit weak, though. Think I would’ve beaten you today if not for the others.”
Marcos raised his eyebrow as his mind tried to turn back on, but he didn’t give it enough time to.
“Cabrón,” he muttered, his fingers loosening on Sebastian’s hair and moving to his throat.
Marcos gripped underneath Sebastian’s jaw, angling his head up before clashing their lips together and pushing Sebastian back until his back met the wall.
The contact was hard enough to make Sebastian’s breath catch. Marcos felt it against his mouth and pressed closer, one hand still at Sebastian’s throat, the other sliding down his side. Sebastian answered, hands gripping Marcos’ singlet and pulling him in rather than pushing him away.
Sebastian moaned into Marcos’ mouth, giving Marcos the chance to slip his tongue inside.
Their tongues slid against each other as their hot breath tangled. Sebastian tilted his head up more, exposing his neck as Marcos’ grip tightened. Sebastian shifted his hips, aligning himself properly with Marcos’, who felt Sebastian’s cock straining against the sweatpants.
That was when Marcos’ mind caught up, and despite himself, he started to think again. His eyes snapped open, his hand dropped from Sebastian’s throat, and he pulled away, taking a step back.